In that time of staying awake, I had a lot of time to read... and what I have been reading about is self-injury. It is an issue that I have spent years struggling with. The temptation is always so great to find the knife and slowly run it along my wrists. The need to continue that motion until I draw blood and feel a physical pain eats at me, until I give into it. And in that giving into the temptation, I find a sense of peace. For me it seems that in the physical pain that I have caused myself all the emotions and stress seem to have a focus that removes me from the forces that are inside of me.
I have been facing this struggle for a long time, but not as long as I have been abused. In high school, after years of moving, I found this simple act that moved me to a place beyond the day to day problems of life, especially those faced as a new student in high school. In those days I found that I was always seeing the negative in my life. I was the walking and talking failure in so many ways. I could see it in the simple looks from my mother, and hear it louder in her voice. I felt like I was sinking so fast, because my mother felt that my actions were the reason that she could make the choice to walk out on my father. And in her desire to walk away, she made it clear that I would not ever be allowed to follow or even go with her. It was my place to remain by my father's side and to take her place in every way that he might ask me to fill.
This conversation was not a new one to me. I can recall it starting when I was in elementary school. We were living in a small town, and even the simple acts of love my father did to correct his mistakes never was enough. Thinking back, one of her birthdays was forgotten, and we (my father, brother, and myself) walked into town to find cake to make the issue disappear. Well, we came back with cake. It just happened to be in the form of cupcakes. Now, in my world the Tasty Cake Chocolate Cupcakes with a single birthday candle and us singing to her... that is a memory I cherish. But even now, with her gone, I know that our devotion to her for her birthday was a failure to her. Another forgotten day in a series of things that always seemed to slip my own father's mind.
There were other birthdays that my mother celebrated with me making a decorating a cake for her. And while she would always seem to enjoy the attention, I always felt that she wasn't happy that it was me thinking of her. That my attention never mattered, and the one person who she wanted to have their undivided attention... well that attention was shared with me. So, all these years later, I can still recall the love that I saw in my father's eyes as we walked together from the house towards the center of town in search of cake for my mother's birthday. Yes, it was last minute. Of course it wasn't the magical world that I think my mother wanted. And yet, it is a simple act of love that my father did with a pure heart for the woman he loved. And that is still something that I held as a standard for the man I would eventually marry.
Somewhere between that act of love and the first few months of high school, I found the world of cutting. And last night for the first time I found a book that actually had a in its pages the very words that my voice can't form that explains why I am drawn to cutting. The desire to stop all the feelings that swirl inside of me with one simple motion that allows me to see that I am alive still. And that motion, brought everything into focus. Now, to see all the reasons that my voice could never find worlds to explain in print... just about took my breathe away.
And I am sharing this cover of the book, so that if you wonder what might be abuse to self... you might seek it out and find words that you have struggled to find to voice...
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